The sage arrives without leaving:
His feet carve tiny divots into the earth
His muscles ripple like a river
And his arms and legs are smooth and sturdy
Like a banyan tree.
He tells me stories with closed eyes and unmoving lips
Why am I here?
I ask him.
He answers with silence.
The sage arrives without leaving
I exhume him from soil
He presses his palms together
Like a closed tulip
As the sun rises in a plumes of orange.
He blooms:
wordless and breathtaking
an enigma
I want to understand but I can’t...
The sage arrives without leaving
I trace the folded lids of his eyes
The undulating curve of his lips as
His heart murmurs
I press an ear against his chest,
What is it saying?
I listen
To his stillness, presence permeating my skin
“Walk with me” he whispers.
“Walk with me.”
Time freezes around his relic.
He walks faster than I can see
And slower than I care to realize.
Till there he is once again,
His palms pressed like tulips
His eyes like flower bulbs
Returning already
To the place where he began.
Spilled Ink 